


Equilibrium

by Whisper91



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, BAMF Stiles, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Pack Bonding, Pack Cuddles, Pack Dynamics, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Pack Orgies, Pack Sex, Peacekeepers, Polyamory, Self-Lubrication, Spanking, Talking Animals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper91/pseuds/Whisper91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The primary role of a Peacekeeper is to forge and strengthen soul-bonds between packmates. The sex is an added bonus. <br/>(In which Stiles is badass, magic-wielding Omega with a healthy libido, and the Pack's more than willing to 'tap that' if given the chance.)<br/> </p><p> </p><p>(Prompt: Omega Stiles/everyone, smutty.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming (Stiles/Scott)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my dear readers who requested smutty Stiles/everyone. Not gonna lie, this fic is gonna be 90% porn with an added splash of magical hocus-pocus because I didn't want the Omegas in my A/B/O verse to be the helpless victims they so often are, and also Stiles is badass. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You're planning on going back to Beacon Hills, aren't you?"

Stiles glances up at his mentor and shrugs, smiling. "Guilty as charged."

There's no use trying to lie to Deaton, the Druid's always been able to read him like an open book. Besides, he's not ashamed about wanting to return to his roots. Sure, most newly qualified Peacekeepers would probably head straight for the bigger cities that house most of the larger, more successful Packs in order to make the right connections, but living in the lap of luxury has never been Stiles' dream. He'd probably love the bright, bustling livelihood of the city for a short time, but it'd loose its appeal soon enough, and he'd wind up homesick all over again. And besides, there are plenty of small Packs back in California who are searching for an Omega. His desk drawer is full of politely-worded entreaties from various Alphas who've heard that he's reached the end of his training. 

Not that he's actually taken the time to consider any of the other invitations after receiving one from Alpha Hale.

"I know that look," Alan comments, his tone resigned. "You've already found your First, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Stiles bounces his heel against the leg of the stool, reaching across the breakfast bar to fix his mentor a cup of coffee as the Druid dishes up their breakfast. "They're a fairly new Pack, kinda more like a ragtag team of stragglers who've come together under the same Alpha, and they've had a few...personality clashes. Among other things."

"Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."

"You know what I'm like," the younger Omega quips with an easy grin. "I relish a challenge."

There's more to it than that, of course, but Deaton doesn't need to know that Scott's the main reason he's planning on accepting Alpha Hale's invitation. Technically it's forbidden for him to make contact with members of outlying Packs without permission from the Temple instructors, but given that Scott's only been a Werewolf these past six months after that rogue attack in Beacon Hills, he felt an exception could be made. He and Scott Skype each other on a fairly regular basis, and all the Beta can talk about these days is his new Pack. Loyal Boyd, who determinedly keeps out of every argument because the tension makes Derek stressed; fierce Erica, who does everything with a passion and intensity that most of the Betas seem to find rather intimidating; sweet, quiet Isaac who Scott's clearly smitten with. And then there's Lydia and Mason and Brett and Liam, and Stiles has heard so much about them that he might as well have been living with Derek's Pack for the past couple of months, rather than stuck on the opposite side of the country. They all sound wonderful, and so desperately in need of guidance that Stiles feels a compelling tug at his Core every time he thinks about the mismatched group that fate has haphazardly cobbled together and dumped on Derek Hale's doorstep. 

Truth is, he's fallen in love with them, and he's never even met them in person.

Deaton gives him a knowing look, setting a plate of bacon and pancakes in front of him. "Challenge or not, just promise me you won't bind yourself them without thinking things through," the trainer beseeches. "Get to know them first; make sure you're the right Omega for the job." He tips Stiles' chin up with a gentle finger. "But more than that, make sure they're the right Pack for you. You know what I always say about an Omega's First."

"It'll either make you or break you?" Stiles guesses, lips twitching. 

"Exactly."

It's a lecture he's heard at least a thousand times these past couple of years, but he knows better than to roll his eyes. Deaton's the most sought-after Peacekeeper this side of the Atlantic, emissary to three large Wolf-Packs and chief Mentor at the best Omega training facility in America. Stiles knows he's lucky to have been taken under Alan's wing. Omega's are rare, but Peacekeepers are even more so; the training is extensive and difficult, and Stiles has lost count of the number of personality tests and psych evaluations he's gone through over the years to ensure that he's an appropriate candidate. There had been thirty new apprentices who'd begun their training at the facility when he'd first started out; now there are only six Omegas beside himself that are about to Transition, the rest having been cut from the program. 

"Oh, and I figured you'd be glad to hear that the State approved your Transition yesterday afternoon," Deaton tells him, his hand lingering on the back of Stiles' neck, warm against his skin. "Your papers won't come through until later this week, but legally you're now recognised as a Peacekeeper. Congratulations."

Stiles grins around a mouthful of pancakes, feeling a thrill run through him at the title.  _Peacekeeper Stilinski._  It sounds so fucking _professional._  God, he still can't believe it's all over. The testing, the training, the Bonding Trials; all of that's behind him now. Soon he'll be claiming a Pack of his own, binding himself to them, guiding them towards a state of unity and helping them to establish stronger ties with the Supernatural folk protected within the boundaries of their territory.

"Since you seem set on going back to Beacon Hills," his mentor comments, in that all-too-casual way that suggests he's up to something, "maybe you could pay a visit to a friend of mine. He's the youngest son of an Alpha I'm particularly fond of, and he's got a Pack of his own now. The Betas are young and inexperienced, most of them newly turned. Once you've settled affairs with your First Pack, perhaps you could find the time to listen to their troubles and offer some sage advice. I think they could all benefit from a little guidance."

Stiles is pretty sure he's going to be somewhat preoccupied taking care of Alpha Hale and his Betas for a good few months at least, but he's a sucker for troubled souls, and he knows he won't be able to keep his distance if there's another struggling Pack somewhere in Beacon Hills county who are looking for a Peacekeeper. 

"I'll pop in and say hi," he promises, turning his head to smile up at the man. 

"Thank you." Deaton leans down to brush a gentle kiss against his mouth, chaste but affectionate in his usual manner, and tugs lightly on Stiles' hair when the younger Omega's eyelids droop. "Eat your breakfast."

Stiles pouts, but obligingly picks up his utensils again. His lips are still tingling from the older Peacekeeper's touch, and his Core pulses, yearning to drink from that infinite well of power a second time, but he's been training under Deaton long enough to know that pleading and puppy-dog eyes don't sway him. He'll just have to be patient and bide his time. Maybe go for a walk in the gardens and chat with the tree spirits, get himself all hot and sweaty in the sun.

Deaton may be Chief Mentor, but he's still an Omega, and Stiles knows what the man likes.  

 

 

 

............................................

 

 

 

A week later, he packs all his belongings into suitcases and jets off back to California. 

His leg jiggles nervously the whole journey. So much has changed these past couple of years. Not so much in Beacon Hills - he talks to Scott and Lydia and his Dad often enough that he's pretty much up-to-date on the current town gossip. It's _Stiles_ who's has changed. He's a Peacekeeper now. His Core, previously a warm little fizzle in his chest that gave him the occasional nudge, now guides him in his everyday actions. He sees the world through different eyes now. 

Even his Dad looks different. Same face, same smile, same terrible dad-jokes, but now Stiles' Core  _feels_ what his eyes can only glimpse at.  _  
_

"You're tired," he notes at breakfast the next morning, stirring sugar into his coffee as he watches his father out of the corner of his eye.

"Maybe that's because I had to pick my kid up from the airport and we didn't get home until gone midnight," John remarks blandly, raking his fingers through Stiles' hair as he moves around the table to put his dishes in the sink.  

"Hn-nn, it's not that." It's a  _different_ kind of tired. Beneath the easy warmth there's a shard of something darker, colder, and it's been there for a while; small enough that it's not overpowering, but sharp enough that it's been weighing on his father's mind. "It's something work-related, isn't it?"

John sends him a look that's part resignation, part exasperation. "I'd say no, but I have a feeling that lying to you is going to be an exercise in futility from now on." When Stiles only grins at him, he sighs and shakes his head, rinsing his dishes under the tap. "You can quit looking at me like that; it's not something I'm free to discuss at the moment."

Stiles can tell he's tapping on a stress point in his dad's armour, and decides to let it go rather than push the issue, filing the information away for a later date. 'At the moment' is up for interpretation, after all. 

The Sheriff glances at the clock on the wall and sighs again. "Sorry, champ, I need to get going. We'll catch up properly over dinner, I promise."

The Omega waves away his dad's apology with an easy smile, munching on a slice of toast as his father gives the back of his neck a parting squeeze and leaves for the station. He slides his cell phone from his pocket and shoots a quick text to Scott, asking if he wants to hang out. He knows his best friend had worked a late shift at the animal clinic yesterday, but Scott had promised to request today off so that they could spend some time together.

_Hey!!!,_ comes the reply less than a minute later.  _Be over in 15 mins! :D x_

Stiles grins down at the screen, heart swelling as excitement courses through him. It's only been a couple of days since he last saw the Beta, but talking on Skype isn't the same as being in the same room as someone. He hasn't hugged Scott in over six months, and that just feels  _wrong._ He fully intends to spend the rest of the day wrapped around his best friend, preferably with minimal clothing.

He takes a long, hot shower to wash away the travel-scent (mindful of sensitive Werewolf noses), humming an old Druid chant to himself as he rinses off the soap, tapping into his Core to form a miniature spinning tornado of water in his palm, relishing the chance to stretch his wings, so to speak, now that he's alone. He'd grown accustomed to using magic on a fairly regular basis back at the Temple, but nothing's warded or enchanted here, so he's not had cause to channel his Core since he set foot back on Californian soil.

It's going to be strange adjusting to life without the usual routine of the Temple. There were always classes to attend or rituals to perfect, and a list of chores as long as his arm to keep his Core well-exercised. But now there are no time restraints, no appointments to keep, no rules to abide by. The notion is liberating and terrifying in equal measure. 

He heads back into his bedroom, a towel around his waste and his hair still damp, and almost has a heart attack when he sees someone sitting on his bed.

"Dude!" he yelps, bracing a hand against the wall as he tries to remember how to breathe. "You could warn a guy!"

Scott grins, jumping up to close the distance between them, and Stiles' heart constricts again for a completely different reason as Scott envelops him the biggest, warmest hug ever. Stiles relaxes into the embrace, his Core singing harmoniously inside of him, sensing the other's happiness. 

"God, I've missed you," he murmurs, and feels Scott's arms tighten around him in response.

"Missed you too, man." The Beta buries his nose in Stiles' neck and inhales deeply, rumbling in approval. "I can't believe you're finally home. The guys are so excited to see you." He pulls back a little to smile at him. "Derek's told 'em not to push, though. He thought you might need a few weeks to settle in before you stopped by to visit us."

Stiles grins, keeping his hands on Scott's shoulders as the Beta's arms settle around his waste. "I might take a couple of days to unpack," he concedes, fingers playing with the fabric of Scott's shirt as he rakes his eyes over him appreciatively. "But I doubt I'll be able to stay away for long; that's why I'm here, after all." He squeezes one of Scott's meaty biceps. "Jesus, dude, your  _arms."_

The Beta laughs and submits to the obligatory feel-up without complaint. It's not like having the Omega's hands on him is a new thing - he just has more muscle on him now than he did the last time they were close enough to touch each other. Unfortunately, isolation is key to a Peacekeeper's Core training, and leaving the facility to visit folk back home is generally discouraged barring family emergencies or grievances so that an apprentice's newly-awoken Omega instincts don't trigger premature bonding before a their training is complete. There was a time, back at the beginning of his apprenticeship, where Stiles' instincts would've driven him to bond with every needy Pack he met; he would've sought to help them and nurture them and would've all but drained his Core in an effort to strengthen them. He cringes to think of how hormonal he'd been back then. Thankfully, his mind and his body are a little more in-balance these days.

Although seeing his best friend all strong and muscular and Werewolf is already doing things to him. Not that human-Scott hadn't stirred similar desires in him before he'd started his training; they'd been semi-platonic fuckbuddies since Stiles' Omega hormones had first kicked in at seventeen, and by the time he'd left for the Temple a year later, they'd pretty much tried everything. 

He sees Scott's eyes roaming over his bare chest and shoulders, tracing the spiraling tattoos with interest. Stiles is rather proud of his collection; markers of his skills and achievements, carefully etched into his skin by the guildmasters every time he'd learned a craft to their satisfaction. The elemental runes run from his collar bone over his right shoulder and halfway down his arm, the ink put there by Deaton himself after the Druid had taught him how to manipulate water and air and earth as he tended to the Temple gardens. It's his primary craft, and he found happiness in digging his fingers into damp soil and coaxing life from the ground that could only be rivaled by the satisfaction of caring for a Pack. He'd achieved some skill in the Healer's art too, but to a lesser extent, so the tattoo on the opposite shoulder is a little less bold, the lines finer, blending into the curving interlocking rings that mark him as an emissary to the spirit realm. 

"So," Scott murmurs, a smile twitching at his lips as he runs the pads of his fingers over the small triskele inked into the skin above the Omega's sternum. "You're officially a Peacekeeper now, huh? What's it like?"

"Kinda surreal, to be honest," Stiles replies, his voice dropping lower as he watches Scott swipe his tongue over his lower lip, eyes still transfixed on the newest tattoo. "I keep expecting to wake up and find myself back in the apprentice quarters with Deaton."

Scott smiles at him again, palm pressed against his chest. "It's real, I promise."

"Yeah?" Spurred on by the warmth buzzing in his Core and the matching need he can sense in the Beta, Stiles leans in until there's barely an inch between them, until their sharing the same air. "Prove it." 

The Beta's eyes change colour, bleeding to a warm amber as his nostrils flare briefly at the noticeable change in Stiles' scent. His lips kick up in a hopeful, eager sort of smile, his hands gentle as they smooth down the Omega's sides to settle on his hips lightly.

"You sure?"

Stiles grins, feeling a tingling sort of heat pooling in his belly as he pushes a hand beneath Scott's shirt to feel up those gloriously firm abs. "Two years, Scotty. Gotta make up for lost time, right?"

The Beta huffs a quiet, breathy laugh and leans in to steal a proper kiss, one hand sliding down over Stiles' towel-covered ass, squeezing a cheek as he sucks and licks his way into the Omega's mouth. Stiles hums happily into the kiss, hands tangling in Scott's hair as he nudges the Wolf back towards the bed, fumbling with belt buckle and zipper to divest Scott of his pants. His friend chuckles against his mouth and pulls away to quickly strip off the offending garments until he's just in his socks and boxers. The significant bulge in the front of the material makes Stiles curious as to what else the Bite might have bulked up (Scott's always been pretty well endowed, but  _holy fuckballs)_ , and he wastes little time in knocking the Beta back against the mattress to straddle his hips.

They fall into a familiar rhythm of kissing and grinding, and it's almost like those two years apart never happened. Well, the only real difference being that Stiles used to be pretty green when it came to sex, and now he's a fucking expert - literally. Scott moans beneath him, putty in his' hands as Stiles rocks his hips, rubbing his ass against the tented boxer shorts. 

"Dude, you smell so good," Scott purrs, hooking a hand over the back of Stiles' neck and pulling him down for another kiss. "Can I touch you? Please?"

Stiles knows what he's asking, and he grins against the Beta's lips before before obligingly rolling over onto his back beside him, towel falling open as he spreads his legs unashamedly. Scott's kneeling there in half a second, gazing down at him hungrily as he strokes gentle hands up and down the Omega's thighs.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his tone awed, and Stiles feels a probing finger slide slickly inside. He hums, canting his hips up to push the digit deeper.

There's no stretch yet, not for just one finger and definitely not when he's this turned on, but he knows it's a fairly new development as far as Scott's concerned. Back before his apprenticeship began, he could only build up enough slick for lubeless penetration after extensive stimulation, and even then they'd always used lubricated condoms to make things easier. And  _oh,_ that was something Stiles really appreciated about his training - a quick tap against his Core, a muttered cleansing spell, and STD's were a concern of the past. Goodbye condoms.

"That doesn't hurt?" Scott asks cautiously, sliding a second finger inside and turning his head to press a kiss against Stiles' knee.

"Hn-nn." The Omega smiles serenely, winding both arms beneath the pillow behind him as pleasure thrums through him right to his Core. Sex with Scott has never felt so good - he can sense how much his friend wants this, feel the Wolf's hunger and lust driving the Beta's action, tempered by Scott's natural nurturing instincts. And fuck, Stiles wants to give it to him so bad.

A third breaches his entrance, sliding in smoothly, and the pressure increases by a fraction, enough that Stiles' toes curl pleasantly and he hums in approval as Scott rubs against his inner wall. He feels slick begin to pool there in response, leaking out around the digits to trickle down his cheeks (shit, he's gonna have to wash the sheets later). He clenches tightly around the penetration, his sphincter muscles gripping Scott's fingers, and watches in delight as the Beta's eyes bug out as he swears hoarsely. 

"The look on your face," he murmurs, amused, and slides an arm from beneath the pillow to stroke it down his chest instead, fingers teasing at his tingling tattoos, adding heat to the fire in his blood.

Scott watches the movement curiously, his fingers slowly pumping in and out. "Does that feel good?"

"Mmm," Stiles agrees, tracing the spirals of his triskele. "Super sensitive." 

"Shit," Scott exhales shakily, rubbing his other hand against Stiles' belly as his fingers scissor and twist inside the slick channel. "You look so fucking hot."

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath at the stimulation, then lets it out on a low moan, hips shifting. "Fuck me."

Scott's hips jerk forward at the mention of the word, his cheeks flushed in arousal as he crooks three fingers inside Stiles, the squelch of his slick loud in the otherwise silent room.

"You sure you're ready?"

"More than ready," Stiles promises, and catches Scott's hand when the Beta leans towards the bedside cabinet. "No. Just you. I wanna feel it."

His friend's eyes widen. "But..."

"Unless you want to wear one," the Omega hastens to add, sensing the other man's hesitation, the ripple of insecurity beneath the pulsing waves of lust and want and _need._ "But don't do it for my sake." He flashes the Beta a lazy grin. "Cleansing rituals. Booyah." 

The Beta huffs another breathy laugh, leaning forwards to brace a hand on the pillow beside Stiles' head and dipping down to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more tender and lingering than its predecessors. Stiles feels something hard and warm nudge against his slick entrance promisingly, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp, heat prickling at his skin and coiling tight in his belly.

Scott eyes him carefully, pupils blown and sclera a vivid amber, but still in total control of his Wolf. Stiles has never been more attracted to another person in his life, and that's saying a lot - as a fairly hormonal Omega, he's attracted to a significant percentage of the adult population, even if he can't bind himself to Neutrals in the way that he can with other Dynamics. Scott as a teenage Neutral had been sexy, but as a Beta he's  _breathtaking._

"Can...can I...?"

"Fuck me?" Stiles finishes, breathing a little heavily as he pushes back against the welcome intrusion. "Hell yeah, hotshot."

Scott flashes him another dazzling smile and does just that.

 

 

 

 ...................................

 

 

 

Stiles is delighted to discover that Scott still likes to snuggle after sex.

The Omega's warm and sleepy and sated, curled half on top of the Werewolf, his cheek pillowed on Scott's unfairly sculpted pectoral as his fingers idly trace patterns against the sweaty skin. Every so often Scott'll turn his head an inch to the side to brush a kiss against the Omega's brow or bury his nose in Stiles' hairline. And it's _perfect_.

He could quite happily go to sleep for a couple of hours, but there's an itch deep inside that keeps him from succumbing to temptation. Despite Scott's relaxed posture, and the contented preening of his inner Wolf, Stiles can sense a twinge of unrest amid the sea of tranquility, a jet-black sliver of disquiet, and his Core won't be at peace until he knows what's bothering the man.

He pushes himself up an inch or so to capture Scott's mouth in a gentle kiss, palm resting over the Wolf's heart. "Talk to me," he murmurs, rubbing his nose along the Beta's cheek. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Scott draws him closer, arm circling around him a little tighter, and exhales a quiet sigh against his hair. "I just really want this to work out."

"The Pack?" Stiles guesses, stroking his thumb back and forth against Scott's skin.

The Beta nods. "I wasn't exaggerating; we really need your help, man. Derek's a great guy, but I don't think he ever planned on becoming an Alpha, and we're not exactly the easiest bunch of misfits to look after. Between the arguments territory issues and the witch coven and the forest getting sick, he's had a pretty rough time of it."

"I'm sure you've tried to help him where you could," Stiles soothes. 

"But that's just it," Scott sighs, and the strain in his voice is more audible now. "He won't  _let_ us help him. I get that he wants to keep us safe, but he's gotta stop shouldering all the responsibility on his own, it's wearing him down."

"It sounds like he's only trying to do what he thinks is best for the Pack," the Omega reasons, rubbing his thumb back and forth where it rests against Scott's chest. "He obviously cares a lot about you."

The Beta sighs again, the tension seeping from his posture as he nods. "I know. I just wish he'd listen to me a little more often."

Stiles settles his chin on his hand, smiling at the Wolf gently. "Well, he took your advice about me," he points out. "And I'd say propositioning a newly qualified Peacekeeper is a pretty big leap of faith for a guy who struggles to accept help from other people. He must really trust your judgement."

Scott blinks at him for a moment, stunned. Then his mouth curls into a wide, pleased smile and he lifts his head to brush a kiss against the corner of Stiles' mouth, hand stroking tenderly up his spine.

"Spoken like a true Peacekeeper." He kisses the Omega again, then tightens his hold on him. "I'm really glad you're home, man."

Stiles settles against the Beta's chest with a happy sigh. "Me too, buddy."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you have any specific pairing requests beyond the obvious. ;)


	2. You Are Cordially Invited (Sterek Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father-son moment, an Alpha-Omega moment, and a lizard.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stiles tugs at the sleeve of his tunic, rolling his shoulders to test to stretch of the new garment as he admires himself in the mirror. It's similar in design to the light beige day-tunics he used to wear back at the Temple during his training, comfortably loose but fitted to his measurements so that it neither sits baggily nor pinches too tight when he moves his arms. The material's wonderfully soft, a dark, leafy green that suits his colouring perfectly, and cinched snugly at the waist by a brown leather belt, the smooth band etched with tiny, intricate runes of protection and good fortune - a gift from one of his favourite guild masters to celebrate his graduation.

He’d been worried that it’d feel awkward to wear traditional Peacekeeper's clothing so soon after Transitioning, but truth be told, he’s glad of it now. There’s a certain level of confidence to be found in dressing to play the part, and while he’s not quite ready to give up on jeans and t-shirts in his regular day-to-day life, he’s no longer dreading any future situations where the more formal tunic and breeches will be required. They’re pretty damn comfortable.

Also? He looks _fierce._

Today's the  _big day_ _;_ his formal meet-and-greet with Alpha Derek Hale. If all goes according to plan, it’ll be followed by a traditional bonding ceremony that will serve to officially welcome Stiles into the Pack (a series of complicated rituals involving shitloads of Core magic and fuckloads of _sex_ \- booyah), and if _that_ goes well, he’ll have a new home by the end of the week.

He’s both breathlessly excited and shitting bricks at the prospect, but he’s been reliably informed by most of the Peacekeepers he’s spoken to that this completely normal, so he’s trying not to think too much about the knots in his stomach.

Besides, when he takes a step back to consider the situation, he can’t help but think that luck has really been on his side so far. After all, he’s _home_ ; he’s back in the town he grew up in, with friends and family to support him through all the trials and tribulations of tending to his First Pack. And not only that, but he’s at a serious advantage compared to most newly-qualified Omega Peacekeepers because he already  _knows_  two members of the young Hale Pack; Scott and Lydia have been his friends since Kindergarten, so he has firm allies among Derek’s Betas, even if Lydia technically doesn’t have any influence over the rest of the group (by the sounds of it, the Werewolves are sensible enough to trust a Banshee’s instincts, but still tiptoe around her on eggshells as though worried they might trigger an unpleasant prediction – it’s driving Lydia mad).  

Scott seems to have had better luck when it comes to befriending the Betas, but that’s due in part to the fact that he’s basically just a giant puppy and tends to unintentionally guilt-trip people with his eyes if they give him the cold-shoulder. Stiles knows Scott’s grown close to the Alpha in particular, which is likely the primary reason why Derek had decided to proposition Stiles as Peacekeeper in the first place, rather than seeking out a more experienced Omega. Scott can be _very_ persuasive when he wants to be.

"Can I come in yet?" his dad calls from the other side of the bedroom door.

"Yeah, I'm decent." With a final glance at his reflection, Stiles turns, spreading his arms out to the sides when the man pauses in the doorway. "So, what's the verdict? How do I look?"

The Sheriff stares at him for a long moment, then smiles, but with a sort of half-twitch at the corner of his mouth that makes it look sad. "Like a Peacekeeper.” John pushes himself away from the door and closes the distance between them, pulling Stiles into a firm embrace and tucking the Omega's head against his shoulder. "I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

Stiles had promised himself he wouldn't cry today, no matter what happened, but he's not a fucking  _rock._  He only got back from the Temple few days ago, and after two years of solid training and minimal face-to-face contact, it kinda feels like he’s about to abandon his father all over again for the sake of his own dreams.

Fuck it, no. He’s just being overly emotional. After all, Derek’s territory is only a fifteen minute car journey away, so it’s not like his Dad won’t be able to see him for months on end _._ They’ll have dinner together as often as he can manage it, and he’ll make a point of dropping by his Dad’s office at the station to say hello whenever it’s a particularly slow day, and he’ll _finally_ be able to meet this ‘Deputy Parrish’ guy that he father’s clearly besotted with. Things are gonna be _great._

He squeezes his eyes tight shut until the hot sting has abated, basking in the warmth and affection that he can feel pulsing from the other man’s Core, wrapping around him like a great big cuddly blanket of love. Even if things go wrong today, he’ll still have this, and that’s one helluva reassurance.   

"Ugh, I'm a mess," he laughs when they finally pull apart, and scrubs his face with the sleeve of his tunic. "How am I supposed to inspire confidence as a Peacekeeper when I look like frickin' Rudolf?"

John smiles, carding his fingers through Stiles' hair to neaten it again. "You'll be fine."

 _“Dad,”_ Stiles grouches and ducks out from underneath his father’s hand, wrinkling his nose in feigned affront as he turns back towards the mirror to flick his spiky fringe into something more attractively rumpled.

Satisfied, he gathers up his satchel (its contents essential for the bonding ceremony, provided that Stiles doesn't fuck things up before they reach that point) and crosses the room to reach into the large glass-walled terrarium near the window, smiling when its occupant immediately darts out from his heated hide to be petted. The Day Gecko pushes up against the palm of Stiles' hand with a happy, throaty little chirp.

"Well. Today’s the day, Pip," he tells the lizard, rubbing its head. “I’m gonna go find us a new Pack. Wish me luck!”

The gecko abruptly scrambles up Stiles’ fingers and onto the back of his wrist, making a beeline for his usual perch on the Omega’s shoulder.

“Hey, no, we talked about this.” Stiles gently plucks the reptile from his arm and cradles Pip carefully in one hand, lifting him to eye-level. “No companions until after the bonding ceremony. You know I’m not usually a stickler for tradition, but this time it’s important, okay?”

The gecko turns his head, tongue flicking out petulantly.

“Don’t be like that,” Stiles wheedles, moving his hand so that they’re facing each other again. “You know I’d take you if I could.” The gecko flicks his tongue out a second time, and Stiles sniffs a grin. “Yeah, I don’t like it either, buddy. But rules are rules.”

Pip gums at Stiles’ thumb to indicate exactly how he feels about the situation, and the Omega sighs softly. “C’mon, it’s just for one night. Dad’ll look after you while I’m gone; run you a bath and let you watch TV and everything. Right, Dad?”

“Sure,” the John agrees, although he sounds less than enthusiastic at the prospect. Which is understandable, really. It’s only been three days since he came home, and his father’s probably still adjusting to the knowledge that Stiles has formed a complex spiritual connection with an unusually intelligent reptile. These things take time. The lizard’s heightened awareness is just a natural side-effect of prolonged exposure to the pure energy of Stiles’ core, but he knows it tends to weird people out at first.

Although admittedly, it could’ve been much worse. Stiles had genuinely been tempted to pick the six-foot python as his first Companion back at the beginning of his training, but then Pip had dropped down from the ceiling of the Temple menagerie and decided to make a nest out of his hair. Once Stiles had recovered from his minor heart attack, it had been love at first sight, and he and Pip had been near-constant companions ever since.

It takes a little more cajoling, but eventually he manages to persuade the gecko to return to his terrarium with minimal fuss, and promises to bring him something particularly tasty by way of an apology the next day. Stiles doesn’t think he’s completely forgiven just yet, but Pip doesn’t protest when he leans in to bump his nose against the lizard’s snout, and he lets go of Stiles’ fingers willingly enough when the Omega sets him down on one of the large, waxy pothos leaves.

“Love you, little guy,” he murmurs, and offers Pip the pad of his index finger. The gecko obligingly taps his foot against it in a high-five, and Stiles grins. “Be good for Dad, okay?”

Pip flicks his tongue against the tip of Stiles’ finger, then darts off towards his rock pool without so much as a backwards glance.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?” his dad asks once they get downstairs, resting a hand on Stiles’ arm when he reaches for the keys on their little hook by the front door.

The Omega squeezes his Dad’s fingers briefly, both touched and amused that his father seems to be even more nervous than Stiles about his pending appointment with Derek Hale.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “I’ve been training for this day for two years. I’m ready.” He turns to give his father one last hug, brushing a quick kiss against his cheek. “I’ll text you later, okay? Try not to worry about me.”

“Alright,” the Sheriff relents, squeezing the back of his neck briefly before letting go. “But if that Alpha tries anything funny with you-”

“I’ll make him wish he’d never been born,” Stiles reassures with calm certainty.

His physical strength might pale in comparison to a fully-grown Werewolf’s, but even Druid-born folk don’t have access to the kind of raw magic that a trained Peacekeeper can summon from their Core. The Temple ensures that its graduates are _thoroughly_ capable of protecting themselves and their Packs from potential threats, both mortal and demonic. Not that he’s expecting any funny business from Derek Hale – the guy took a bunch of young supernatural misfits under his wing out of the kindness of his own heart and is now seeking out a Peacekeeper in the hopes of improving the bond between them. He doesn’t strike Stiles as the overly-pushy sort.

“I can handle it, Dad,” he promises, because his father’s still looking a little uncertain. “If he crosses the line with me, I’ll send him scurrying back the other way with his tail between his legs.”

John blinks at him for a long moment, then nods, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Atta boy.”

 

 

 

… … …

 

 

 

The house is gorgeous, all dark brick and wooden slats and copper-coloured slate roof, but tastefully modernised with window fixtures and a couple of balconies on the upper floors. There’s a sleek back Camaro parked off to the far right of the paved driveway near the triple-doored garage, and Stiles has a feeling it belongs to Derek (since the rest of the Pack is supposed to be absent during their first meeting, as tradition dictates), and his appreciation for the Alpha jumps up another few notches.

Then the front door to the house opens and Stiles forgets how to breathe.

He hadn’t let himself hunt for pictures of the Alpha online, and he’d said no when Scott had offered to send him a recent snaptshot of Derek with the other Betas, because he hadn’t wanted the man’s appearance to influence his decision prior to actually meeting the guy face-to-face. A natural side-effect of his Omega genes is that he’s generally attracted to _anyone_ who’s of a similar age (or older) and has admirable character traits and who wants him as much as he wants them, so physical appearance hadn’t really been much of a concern. Stile was always, _always_ going to be up for bonding with a patient, kind-hearted Alpha like the one Scott had described to him.

But this? He hadn’t been expecting _this_.

Derek Hale is fucking _edible._

Broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, Derek cuts an impressive figure in the dark button-down shirt and black pants, the form-fitting fabric hinting at the chiselled six-pack that Stiles is already imagining underneath, pinching tight over bulging biceps. Stiles envies that shirt. He wants to pinch Derek in _all sorts_ of places.

The Omega takes a steadying breath, embracing the subsequent swell of hormones rather than trying to suppress them, allowing the Alpha to smell the change in his body chemistry as he moves away from the treeline that borders the clearing, his footsteps measured and confident as he approaches the house.

Oh god, the man’s even more gorgeous close-up. And it’s not his looks, either – his _scent,_ fuck, it’s so thick Stiles could cup air in his hands and drink it. He’s been exposed to Alpha pheromones before, but only in training, and only with Weres who had already been bonded to other Peacekeepers. Derek’s scent, pure and untainted and _ripe_ for the claiming, is downright intoxicating.

 _Mine,_ his Omega instincts insist. _This one’s all mine._  

Quashing the sudden wave of possessiveness and locking it away in the recesses of his mind (for the time being), Stiles draws strength from his Core and manages to dip his head in a respectful nod, coming to a halt a few feet away from the front porch.

“Alpha Hale,” he greets politely. “A blessing of health and longevity upon your lands and kin.”

Derek returns the nod. “You honour us, Peacekeeper. Be welcomed in my home.”

So the Wolf knows the traditional greeting by rote? Stiles is both impressed and pleasantly surprised. Scott had always told him that Derek was a relatively young and inexperienced Alpha compared to other Packs in the county, but clearly he’s been schooled to some extent. Formal Peacekeeping ceremonies aren’t the sort of thing you can memorise from the internet by typing ‘how to’ into Google. Werewolves tend to be extremely secretive about their traditions, the knowledge of rites and rituals passed down through generations from one Alpha to another.

But despite Derek’s calm exterior, Stiles can sense how apprehensive the Alpha really is, deep down. Hoping to soothe his nerves a little, Stiles cracks an easy smile, breaking the strained politeness that hangs between them.

“So, now that we’ve got the formal stuff out of the way,” he says, and steps forward to offer the Alpha his hand. “Hi. I’m Stiles. It’s great to finally meet you.”

The Wolf blinks at him, momentarily surprised by the abrupt divergence from tradition, but his grip on the Omega’s hand is warm and sure, and his lips curl up at the corner in the faintest semblance of an answering smile.

“Derek,” comes the reply, his tone a little less stilted as his posture relaxes. “Thank you for agreeing to come and see me.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Stiles insists, and doesn’t move to pull his hand away even as their palm-to-palm contact lingers far beyond what propriety would demand. Derek certainly seems to be in in no real hurry to let him go. “I’ve known Scott and Lydia since we were little kids; I’m pretty invested in their lifelong happiness, you know?” He gives an easy little shrug. “And they really care about you. Which means I do, too.”

Derek stares at him for a long moment, utterly silent, but Stiles doesn’t let the lack of response get to him – he can sense the effect his words have had on the Alpha, feel the sharp upsurge of hope and gratitude and affection (although whether it’s levied towards Stiles or the Betas, he can’t say for certain).

Eventually, something shifts in the Alpha’s posture, his expression clearing, and Stiles senses the Wolf lowering his defensive shields a little. Derek graces Stiles with a small but _genuine_ smile, and lifts their joined hands to press a kiss to the back of the Omega’s knuckles. It’s a suitably chaste but affectionate gesture between prospective bonding partners, and fairly in-tune tradition, but it still manages to make Stiles blush. After two years of Temple training, the Omega hadn’t realised he was still _capable_ of blushing.

“I think we have a few things to talk about,” he manages, and is grateful that his voice remains steady, albeit lower and huskier than his usual tone. The pheromones are so thick they’re clogging all of his senses, it’s a miracle he can _think_ straight, let alone talk.

“Talking. Yeah.” Derek draws in a deep, slightly ragged breath, red-tinted sclera fading back to a more natural colour as he releases Stiles’ hand and gestures towards the open door. “Can I interest you in a coffee?”

Oh. Oh, he’s in _love._

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Here's the picture of[Pip and Stiles](http://onebigphoto.com/uploads/2014/03/friendship-with-gecko.jpg) that first inspired their relationship. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter folks, but Part 2 (out in a couple of days) is basically PURE SMUT with some magical ritual shit thrown in. But yeah, lots of sex. Magical sex. Skip ahead if that ain't your thing.
> 
> Just so you guys know, I'm basically building towards a polyamorous Pack romance/platonic sex thing where all the Betas learn how to get along and look after each other through appreciating them sexually. That is literally the plot for this story, with a couple of magical/demon battles thrown in, and maybe some cool household pets that Stiles adopts.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. Let's Get It On (Sterek Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: major smut alert.
> 
> No seriously, this chapter is pure porn. Magical Omega porn. And cuddles.

 

 

Stiles cradles the stone bowl between cupped hands as he sinks gracefully to his knees opposite the Alpha.

“Here,” he murmurs, offering it to Derek, and smiling when the man glances at him curiously. “It’s water from the river, cleansed and purified. It’s meant to act as a symbol of my intention to provide for your Pack and safeguard your lands.”

Derek carefully cups his hands over both of Stiles’, lifting the bowl to his lips and tilting it fractionally, his gaze never wavering from the Omega’s as he drinks. Stiles relishes the point of contact, a fierce and tantalising heat working its way through his bloodstream, setting his nerve endings alight. He can feel his self-control slipping away with every passing second, deep-rooted instincts urging him to press himself up against the Alpha and claim him, to drink from the Wolf’s Core and sate his hunger on Derek’s manhood.

It’s only through endurance born of two years’ hard training that he manages to keep his hands from trembling as he sets the bowl to one side and reaches for the buttons on Derek’s shirt, fingers deftly working their way down until he can push the flaps of the shirt aside and ease the garment gently over the Alpha’s broad shoulders.

“May I?” he asks, his voice still a low murmur, fingers hovering above the man’s skin.

Derek visibly swallows, his sclera bleeding red for a split second as his control slips. A quick blink and the Alpha’s eyes are back to normal, but Stiles can sense the battle going on beneath the mask, sense how much the Wolf _wants_ this. Wants _him._ The subsequent rush of Omega hormones leaves him feeling light-headed, drunk on the scent of their combined arousal, but he steadfastly forces himself to focus on the task at hand as Derek dips his head in a slight nod.

Gently running the pads of his fingers along the Alpha’s jawline towards his ears, Stiles leans in closer, a slow and measured approach, carefully tuned-in to the emotional ripples than run along the connection between their Cores. He waits until the Alpha tilts forwards to meet his advance before finally pressing a feather-light kiss against Derek’s lips, smoothing his hands down the Wolf’s neck to rest on his shoulders for stability.

He hums softly, approvingly, as warm palms come up to cradle his face, holding him near so that their lips can brush against each other in a second kiss, then a third, lock together in a fourth, and it’s deep and heated and passionate now, dual hunger fuelling their desire for _more_ and _harder._

“Derek,” he breathes, when the Alpha breaks away from his lips to press his nose against the Omega’s neck, inhaling raggedly to regain control. A warm palm trails down his bare chest, fingers teasing over his Elemental tattoos, coming to rest over the triskele Marker that sits above his sternum. The tattoo throbs at the touch, a pulsing heat that goes straight to Stiles’ groin, and his breeches grow even damper at the renewed rush of slick that pours out of him.

The Alpha practically _purrs_ against his throat. “God, you smell amazing.”

“Right back atcha, big guy,” Stiles manages, and it’s probably not the most professional Peacekeeper-ish thing to say, but he’s expending most of his self-control on trying not to pin Derek to the bedroom floor and claim what’s his, so there isn’t a whole lot of restraint going spare.

Derek drags his nose up the curve of Stiles’ throat and over his jawline, inhaling deeply, hands pulling the Omega close until their flush against one another.

“Is this okay?” he asks, one hand cupping the back of Stiles’ neck and the other curled around his thigh.

“Perfect,” Stiles hums, pleased, and steals another kiss.

He chances a quick downwards glance as they pull apart briefly, and feels his arousal jump up another few notches at the sizeable bulge in the Alpha’s dark pants. Definitely all-systems-green in that department. And Stiles? He’s been leaking slick ever since Derek had knelt on the edge of the ceremonial mat, calm and composed, pledging his loyalty and trust to the Peacekeeper as Stiles fastened a plaited leather band around the Alpha’s wrist; a symbol of the connection they would soon share.

Stiles is more than ready to consummate those vows. Fuck, he might just _die_ if it doesn’t happen soon.

“Derek,” he murmurs, breath hitching on the word as the Alpha trails heated kisses over the spiralling tattoos that mark his shoulders. He curls his fingers into the Wolf’s dark hair and gently tugs him up. “How about we take this to the bed? Fuck, Alpha, I need y-”

He arches, moaning, as Derek promptly claims his mouth in a searing kiss, his right hand sliding up from Stiles’ thigh to stroke over the curve of his buttocks, fingers pressing along the line of his crack over the soft, slick-dampened material.

“I’ve got you,” the Alpha promises, the words a hot puff of air against his lips as Stiles suffers a full-body tremor, the delicious anticipation of it all leaving him wrecked and wanton, slick pooling with increased fervour between his cheeks.

The transition from ceremonial mat to bed is less than graceful, because they’re both lust-drunk and unwilling to relinquish their hold on one another for even the barest fraction of a second. Stiles discovers mid-step that his lower legs have gone to sleep after kneeling for so long, and with his attention fully focused on helping to divest Derek of his remaining clothes, he lacks the means to summon strength back into them and almost ends up taking both of them to the floor again. The Alpha catches him in time, though, and somehow manages to drag Stiles over to the bed and lose his pants simultaneously (witchcraft, clearly), which means after a short span of several slightly disorientating seconds there’s a large, aroused, _butt-naked_ Alpha crowding him down against the mattress.

 _Fuck yeah._ Stiles is in heaven.

Derek loops his arms around the Omega securely as he moves them further up the bed, easing Stiles down against the pillows near the headboard like he’s something precious, fingers light against his skin as their lips meet again in a deep, lingering kiss. Without any unwanted fabric to get in the way, Stiles is able to _feel_ the full length and hardness of Derek’s cock as the Alpha leans over him, the organ pressing against his lower belly just above the soft fabric of Stiles’ breeches.

Dropping his hand from Derek’s hip, he forms a loose fist around the hard member, pumping slowly and grinning against the Alpha’s lips when the Wolf moans and trembles above him, muscles tense with restraint.

“Fuck, you’re _huge_ ,” he purrs approvingly, and drops his other hand so that he can start tugging at the waistband of his breeches, arching his hips off the bed to pull the damp material over the curve of his ass.

Derek pulls away suddenly, but Stiles doesn’t have time to mourn the loss, because the Alpha’s hands join his own in an effort to get him naked, and that’s seems like an _excellent_ compromise. Especially when Stiles lifts his legs to kick the garment from his ankles and Derek actually _whines_ , gaze zeroing in on his slick-soaked cheeks. It’s only a small sound, low and choked at the back of the Alpha’s throat like he’d being trying his hardest to suppress it, but it’s _gorgeous._

Stiles loves that he’s reduced the Wolf to this; revels in the exhilarating rush it brings him to see such a powerful, beautiful being looking down at _him,_ Stiles, with such wanton desperation.

“Like what you see?” he asks, gently teasing, drawing his knees up and spreading them so that nothing is left to the imagination.

Derek’s eyes bleed red and stay that way, but his touch is gentle as he smooths a hand down Stiles’ thigh, gaze still fixed on his dripping entrance. Stiles can feel the man’s arousal nearing its breaking point, and while Derek’s admirable show of restraint is both endearing and fucking _sexy,_ the Omega is very much on-board with the idea of being fucked as hard and fast as the Alpha desires.

“It’s alright, Derek,” he reassures, his voice ragged and uneven as his hole clenches in anticipation. “You don’t have to hold back. I want this just as much as you do.”

It seems to be the permission that Derek had been waiting for, because the Alpha abruptly plants both hands on Stiles’ thighs and pushes his knees a little further apart, leaning down towards the Omega’s entrance and swiping the flat of his tongue over the fluttering hole in one long, broad stroke.

“Fuck!” Stiles yelps, eloquently. And, “Fucking hell, oh my _god, do that again!”_

Derek lifts his head half an inch to grin at him, his chin shiny with slick, before burying his face back between Stiles’ cheeks and going to town on his hole. The Alpha seems intent on lapping up ever last smear of slick from the Omega’s skin – an impossible task, given how rapidly he’s is producing _fresh_ lubricant with every toe-curling lick – and Stiles is reduced to a quivering mess of moans and whimpers, fingers clutching at the pillow behind his head as heat grows in his loins, pleasure tightening like a coiling spring, begging for release.

His cock is already rock-hard and leaking copiously, smearing his belly with clear fluid which pools in his navel, and he can feel that his first orgasm of the day (he has high hopes that it’ll be the first of _many)_ is fast approaching. All he needs now is for Derek to-

“Hnnaah!” he groans, and arches up from the bed as the Alpha suddenly breaches his entrance with two long fingers, slipping them smoothly inside without resistance. His muscles seize up as his orgasm slams into him like a freight train and he spurts his release all over his abdomen, hips twitching, hole clenching around the thick digits. “Shit! Derek!”

“Beautiful,” the Alpha says reverently, and leans over him to lap up his release like it’s truffle sauce, careful not to miss a drop, his hands firm but gentle as they rest either side of the Omega’s hips to keep him still.

Stiles makes an inarticulate noise of pure _want_ , sinking his fingers into Derek’s hair and tugging him up into another heated kiss, tasting himself on the Alpha’s tongue. They taste so fucking _good_ together he can’t help the delicious shiver that runs through him, nor the renewed rush of fresh slick that drips down his crack to soak the bedsheets.

“Fuck,” Derek breathes against his cheek, hips rocking down as the scent of Stiles’ arousal grows thicker in the air around them. Warm fingers brush against his entrance again. “You’re so wet. I could milk you all day and you’d still be ready for more, wouldn’t you?”

 _Ooooh,_ the mouth on that man. It’s going to push Stiles straight into his next orgasm if he isn’t careful.

“Promises, promises,” he replies, breathless and only half-teasing.

Milking happens to be something Stiles enjoys _very_ much. It’s mostly Deaton’s fault; the Peacekeeper had been so fucking thorough with his training in the weeks leading up to the Endurance Trials at the end of Stiles’ first year that his body had gotten into the habit of producing _bucketloads_ of slick during his private sessions with Alan (the man was always wonderfully talented, patient and _determined_ when it came to endurance testing), and he’d never really lost the knack for it. His exam facilitators (a selection of the Temple’s most experienced Beta attendants) had been both suitably impressed and thoroughly sated by the time the Trials had ended, and Stiles had passed with flying colours. He’d also learned to always drink a shit-ton of water prior to future milking sessions in order to avoid becoming clinically dehydrated.

But that’s for another day. He’s too far gone to waste time on any more foreplay. He wants a cock in him, _now._

Flipping over onto his stomach abruptly, he scoots backwards a few inches and arches his back, arms resting flat on the bed, slick ass wiggling in the air invitingly.

“I’ve got a better idea, hotshot,” he tells the Alpha, peering over his shoulder to grin at him salaciously, lust-drunk and high on endorphins from his recent climax. “How about you stuff my ass full of your cock and knot me instead?”

Derek’s eyes, if possible, bloom a darker shade of red, and the hands that stroke down his sides to grip his hips are hot and firm and possessive. “Are you sure?”

Stiles presses his face into the bedcovers and pushes his ass further back by way of a reply. The Wolf seems to take that as the expressed consent it’s meant to be, because a moment later there’s the familiar nudge of a hard cock pressing up against his slick entrance. Stiles doesn’t bother to hold back the delighted whine as the Alpha’s manhood inches slowly inside him, inch by glorious inch.

He’s been fucked before countless times, but never by an Alpha, never by someone who intends to _knot_ him and _mate_ with him _multiple times._ Today is officially the best day of his life.

Derek holds still once his thighs are touching Stiles’ cheeks, his breathing ragged and his hands trembling slightly with restraint where he grips the Omega’s hips. The younger man clenches around the intrusion with a satisfied moan, working his inner muscles against the Alpha’s cock until Derek finally loses it, hips stuttering forward in shallow thrust that feels fucking _amazing._

“Oh god,” Stiles groans, face mushed against the sheets as fireworks go off behind his eyes. “Fuck, Derek, _please…”_

And there go the Alpha’s inhibitions. Stiles is delighted to discover that the Werewolf’s muscles aren’t just there for show – Derek ploughs into him like it’s an Olympic sport, hips snapping against the Omega’s ass in a fast, enthusiastic rhythm that quickly reduces Stiles to inarticulate but _eager_ warbling, the wet sound of his slick on the Alpha’s cock providing a sweet background symphony to their vocal duet.

Stiles’ second orgasm comes quite unexpectedly, stealing the breath from his lungs as his muscles clench up, seed spurting onto the sheets below as Derek fucks him through it, growling encouragement and choked expletives as his walls tighten around the Alpha’s cock.

“So fucking hot,” Derek tells him, his warm weight settling over the Omega briefly as he slows his thrusts, kissing the back of Stiles’ neck as the younger man sobs and trembles through his release.

“Knot me,” Stiles begs once he’s managed to catch his breath, well past the point of caring about decorum and ceremonial vocabulary. “Please, Derek, fuck, I need it, I need you, _please-”_

“Shhh,” the Alpha soothes, nipping lightly at the side of his neck, the gentle pinch of blunt teeth against his skin helping to ground him a little. It’s a very _Alpha_ gesture, something usually done to settle an agitated Beta, and it sparks a warm and _happy_ feeling deep inside of him, knowing that he’s earned the right to be treated as such. “Easy, baby. It’s alright.” Lips press against the mark gently. “I’ll give you what you need.”

Derek starts rocking again, still pressed up along Stiles’ back, his teeth resting against the Omega’s skin in a not-quite-bite as though to keep him still, keep him settled, helping him to submit placidly to his Alpha’s ministrations.

And then Stiles feels it; the slightly bulbous swelling at the base of Derek’s cock, catching ever so slightly against his entrance with every thrust.

He keens, every cell in his body alight with electricity, his Core thrumming, _desperate_ to be fucked by a real knot. He’s only ever taken training toys before, since Betas and Neutrals don’t have knots regardless of species, and it’s something every Omega _craves_ , a burning desire that’s etched into their genetic makeup on a cellular level, hormones and instincts telling him that this is _it,_ this is what his body was designed for, this is what he _needs_ to make himself complete.

With a final, vigorous thrust, Derek pushes all the way into him, knot breaching his entrance and locking itself inside, his sphincter muscle narrowing behind it to keep them tethered together.

“Hnnnn,” Stiles manages, whimpering, thighs trembling as his muscles seize up again, his third orgasm dragged out of him devastatingly slowly as Derek’s weight settles on top of him, hips twitching.

The Alpha grunts, swears hoarsely, and then spills deep inside the Omega with a low growl, hips pressed flush against the boy’s ass. And _ohhh,_ it feels even more amazing than Stiles could have imagined. All that hot, fresh seed pumping into him, locked inside by an Alpha’s knot. And he can feel Derek’s orgasm almost as well as his own, the waves of ecstasy rippling along their bonded Cores, tingling down his spine like electricity.

“Fuck,” Derek breathes after a moment, exhausted and sated, and Stiles grins into the bedsheets, victorious.

The Alpha swipes his tongue gently over the blossoming bruise Stiles can feel forming on his neck. “You okay, baby?”

  1. Oh yes, Stiles could get used to that.



“Mm-hmm,” he hums, still smiling dopily.

Derek licks his neck again slowly, grooming him, before nuzzling the spot and carefully sliding an arm underneath Stiles’ torso.

“I’m gonna roll us over,” he explains, and does so with the utmost care, although Stiles still winces a little when the movement tugs the knot against his oversensitive rim. But then they’re _spooning,_ all cuddle-sex and gentle nuzzles against his throat, and he just _melts._

“Still okay?”

“Mmm,” the Omega agrees, curling his fingers around the arm that’s still holding him close. “Feels good.”

Derek strokes his free hand over the younger man’s abdomen in soothing circles, hips starting to rock again in tiny, aborted thrusts. “You’re so tight, Stiles, _fuck.”_

Stiles moans, drawing himself out of his blissful daze to clench his muscles around Derek’s knot. “Gonna come again, Der?” he asks, his words slurred by fatigue and arousal combined. “Pump me full of it?”

“Fuck yeah,” the Alpha pants, hips jerking a little faster, his hand splayed against the Omega’s belly to hold him close. Then he presses flush up against Stiles with another low growl, hips twitching as hot seed splatters against the Omega’s clenching inner walls.

With another beaming, drunken smile, Stiles lets his head flop back down against the pillow, patting Derek’s arm where it rests across his chest. “Good job,” he slurs. “Ten out of ten, would definitely recommend to a friend.”

Derek sniffs a grin behind him, lips tracing the shell of his ear as the hand on his belly goes back to rubbing.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks after a few minutes of comfortable, sated silence. “Earlier, when you presented yourself like that…my control slipped. I hadn’t planned on being so rough with you.”

Stiles finds it both amusing and endearing that Derek thinks they’ve just have ‘rough sex’, but he keeps his amusement to himself (manners maketh man, and all that) and decides that now’s not the time to start regaling the Alpha with vividly detailed descriptions of his extensive Temple training. When an attendant fucks you so hard that you have an unintended Core surge that sets the whole bedroom on fire, _that’s_ rough sex. The bar’s been set pretty high, to be honest.

“It was perfect,” he reassures, squeezing Derek’s wrist gently, sphincter muscle fluttering a little as the Alpha’s knot finally begins to shrink inside of him. He can feel the Wolf’s seed begin to leak out around their joining and tries not to feel too disappointed, promising himself that it’ll be a regular thing from now on, that he’s going to be living with Derek 24/7 and will therefore have access to the Wolf’s knot whenever he’s so willing. Fuck yeah. Life is good.  

The Alpha kisses his throat a second time, arms tightening around him briefly in what’s undeniably a _snuggle_. “You were amazing. I never imagined it would feel like this; bonding with a Peacekeeper, I mean. Thought it’d be awkward and uncomfortable for the both of us.”

“I can’t imagine a scenario where I _wouldn’t_ be totally attracted to you,” Stiles tells him plainly, shifting a little as the knot shrinks even further, warm seed trickling down his cheeks. “You’re smokin’ hot, you make the best coffee I’ve had the pleasure of tasting in _months,_ and you obviously care a lot about your pups. To coin a phrase, you had me at ‘hello’.”

A warm tongue brushes against the bruise on his neck again, slow strokes that ease the dull ache of the growing hickey, and Stiles hums at the intimate grooming, skin tingling pleasantly.

“I’m gonna pull out now,” Derek warns him, a soft puff of air against his damp throat. “Keep still for me.”

The receding knot pops out with a wet _squelch_ and Stiles can’t quite hold back his disheartened whimper at the sudden and overwhelming feeling of _emptiness_ that hits him as Derek’s cock slips free, semen dribbling down from his loose hole despite his weak attempts to clench up and keep it in.

“Shhh,” the Alpha soothes, rubbing his stomach as the Omega trembles, gaping sphincter muscles clenching on thin air desperately. “I’ve got you, hold on.”

 Stiles finds himself being gently rolled over and gathered close, strong arms enveloping him in a firm embrace, a hand settling in his hair to tuck his head beneath Derek’s chin where the pulse of his pheromones is strongest. The Omega breathes in a deep lungful of their combined scents, tensed muscles settling as the instinct to _cling_ is met with equal enthusiasm from his bonding partner.

Eventually their hold on each other eases, and Derek shifts onto his back so that Stiles is lying half on top of him, sprawled comfortably across the Alpha’s chest, sweaty and exhausted and so fucking _happy_ that all he wants to do is snuggle closer and curl his senses around the bright, pulsing heat of Derek’s Core.

There’s a small part of his mind that’s still thinking sensibly, the part that’s been trained and conditioned to remain aware and alert at all times regardless of how aroused and instinct-driven the rest of his body is, and right now it’s reminding him that he’s probably lost half a gallon of fluid through slick and semen alone in the past forty minutes or so. He needs to drink something before he falls asleep if he wants to avoid a killer headache later on.

But truth be told, he’s too fucking _comfortable_ to summon the energy to get out of bed.

So instead he stretches out an arm towards his satchel where he left it near the ceremonial mat on the opposite side of the room, tapping against his Core and pinching his fingers _just so_ to grasp and the _Avion_ bottle amongst his supplies, feeling the sharp mental tug as he yanks it back towards him. The charm lacks his usual grace and control, his powers as lust-drunk as the rest of him, so the bottle smacks him in the shoulder rather than landing neatly in his hand, but he’s beyond the point of caring about maintaining good form. He’s just been _knotted_ , after all.

Derek arches an eyebrow at him, head and shoulders propped up on pillows as he watches Stiles fumble to retrieve the bottle from where it’s rolled away across the bedsheets.

“Summoning spell?”

“Mm,” Stiles confirms, cracking the water open and downing half the bottle in a few gulps. His immediate thirst sated, he props himself up on his side and lifts the neck of the bottle to Derek’s mouth. “Here.”

The Alpha parts his lips obligingly, allowing Stiles to trickle the water into his mouth, and between them they finish the bottle sip by shared sip.

“Thank you,” Derek murmurs, as Stiles chucks the empty bottle over the side of the bed and leans in to kiss the lingering moisture from his Alpha’s lips.

“Welcome.” Smiling, he settles back down against the Wolf, cheek cushioned on one of his impressively sculpted pectorals. “I’m gonna pass out for a couple of hours, ‘kay? Poke me if I start snoring.”

Derek cards his fingers through the Omega’s hair and brushes a kiss against his temple. “Sleep well.”

“Mm. Night.”

Clean-up can wait, Stiles has decided. He’s earned himself a goddamn nap.

 

 

 

 


	4. Pretty Bird (Sterek, Stiles/Isaac Part 1)

 

 

Stiles glances down at his watch and almost tumbles backwards out of the tree in surprise. Shit, he’s been meditating for _hours_.

He’d come out here to get a feel for Derek’s territory, scaling up the tallest tree he could find that bordered the edge of the clearing, close enough to the house that he could still feel the Alpha’s presence tugging gently at his Core, but with enough distance between them that Derek’s immediate thoughts and feelings wouldn’t get jumbled in with the soft, lilting hum of the earthen spirits as Stiles opened himself up to the forest.

Thing is, Beacon Hills is _old._ Like, s _eriously_ old. Its supernatural history dates back almost a millennia, and there are beings in this forest rarely seen by human eyes; things that dwell in the rocks and rivers and trees, hidden in plain sight. _Ancient_ things. And not all of them are friendly. The local Druid clans and Were-packs do what they can to keep some of the more malignant creatures away from densely populated areas, but every now and then there’ll be a news report about a young hiker who’s gone missing – the remains will later be recovered miles deep into the forest, mutilated almost beyond recognition. And while there’ll be frantic whispers about witches and wendigos gaining strength in numbers, maybe even rumours about a fucking _Unseelie Court_ lashing out against human trespassers, nothing’s ever fully confirmed or wholly denied _._ It just gets chalked up to being yet another ‘ _Beacon Hills mystery’._  

Thankfully, Stiles can’t sense anything with malicious intent nearby. In actual fact, the forest surrounding Derek’s den is quiet _–_ almost unnervingly so. But there’s nothing about it which immediately screams _dangerous,_ so the Omega decides to lower his guard enough to watch as a sleek _Corsa_ make its way up the winding driveway towards the clearing, sunlight glinting off the silver hood.

“Looks like my first Beta’s here,” he says to the magpie who’s taken up residence on his thigh. “Sorry, Merlin. You’re gonna have to move in a second.”

 _“Pretty bird,”_ the magpie protests; a tinny, croaky echo of Stiles’ voice that the bird has perfected over the years.

“Yeah, buddy, you’re a pretty bird,” Stiles tells him, because Merlin is as vain as a peacock and very good at sulking if he isn’t regularly complimented on his appearance. “But you still gotta move.”

Merlin gives a low, protesting _caw_ and hops a little further up his thigh until he’s pressed against the Omega’s abdomen. Stiles sniffs a grin, relinquishing his hold on the overhanging branch to smooth his fingers gently over the bird’s head.

“Don’t be like that,” he murmurs, scratching Merlin just above the joint of his left wing, the magpie’s favourite spot. “You know it can’t just be the two of us anymore. I’ve got a Pack now.”

And _fuck,_ it sure feels great to say that out loud.

 _“Don’t be like that,”_ Merlin parrots, stretching his wings and fluttering them in obvious indignation. _“Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”_

“I know,” Stiles placates. “I know, buddy. You flew a helluva long way to get here, and I’m super happy to see you.” The magpie puffs himself up importantly. “ _But,_ ” the Omega continues, “I have a job to do. So I’m gonna have to say ‘bye’ for a little bit, okay?”

The bird nips at his finger, affronted. Stiles sighs.

“How about I go introduce you to the guys, huh?” he bargains, smoothing the back of his hand along the underside of Merlin’s breast so that the bird can climb up. “I’ve told Derek all about you, smarty-pants.”

 _“You’re so cute,”_ Merlin tells him in tinny, garbled Stiles-speak as he bobs his body up and down, clawed feet curled securely around Stiles’ fingers. _“Pretty bird.”_

The Omega’s grin widens. “Good plan, huh? Awesome. Hop up, dude.”

He lifts his hand to the opposite shoulder (Merlin’s usual seat of choice) to transfer the bird to a more secure perch, and turns carefully on the thick branch, pressing his hands up against the smooth bark of the tree trunk as he begins to make his descent.

The silver _Corsa_ has parked itself alongside Derek’s black _Camaro_ by the time he reaches the ground, and a tall, slim body is unfolding itself from the driver’s side door. Stiles lingers back behind the treeline for a moment and watches him ( _stalker,_ the Lydia-like voice in his head accuses), eyes raking over the Beta’s form keenly as Isaac turns towards the house.

Wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and an ass Stiles could stare at all day…well, _fuck_. The dude’s every bit as handsome as his facebook profile suggests. Stiles can see why Scott’s so hopelessly smitten.

Derek’s standing out on the porch now, the front door open behind him, and even from this distance Stiles can feel the gentle wave of affection lapping at the edge of his Core as he smiles towards the Beta.

Isaac picks up the pace and steps into his Alpha’s arms with an easy sort of familiarity that makes something in Stiles’ chest pulse warmly. He knows all about Isaac’s past – about the Beta’s previous Pack, all of whom had elected to turn a blind eye whenever their Alpha got a little too physical with corrective punishments, prompting Isaac to run away from home (and halfway across the fucking county) in the middle of a thunderstorm on the night of a full moon, fearful for his life. Apparently Derek’s Wolf had sensed the injured Beta’s presence lurking near the edge of his territory, and the instinct to protect him had been too strong to ignore.

 _“He was in a bad shape,”_ Derek had told him the previous evening as they lay curled up in bed together, Stiles’ fingers tracing idle, possessive Druid runes over the werewolf’s heart. _“Injuries inflicted by an Alpha take a little longer to heal – sometimes days, especially without proper medical treatment or adequate socialisation between Packmates. The kid was one giant fucking bruise, and he-”_ The Alpha had cut himself off, lips thinning and jaw clenching as he fought for control. _“I’ve never sensed that sort of loneliness in a grown Beta before. Not in a born ‘wolf, at least. To think that his own father was the Alpha who-”_

 _“Hey,”_ Stiles had murmured, cupping the man’s cheek when Derek’s eyes briefly flashed crimson. _“You got him outta there. Isaac’s with you now, right?”_ He’d pressed a tender kiss to the corner of the Alpha’s mouth, radiating warmth and comfort along their newly formed bond. _“He’s yours, Derek. And he’s_ safe. _”_

But Stiles can understand where the Alpha is coming from now that he’s seen Isaac for himself. The Beta’s Core is as bright and passionate as any young Werewolf’s, but Stiles doesn’t have to probe too deep to sense the hurt and fear that still lingers there.

His Omega instincts are driving him to _soothe_ and _comfort_ and _heal_ in the face of Isaac’s scars, and he clamps down on the upsurge of protectiveness before it can change the colour of his eyes. They haven’t even been formally introduced yet – binding himself to Isaac and intertwining their Cores like that might be considered a tad invasive.

“Hey,” Derek says, spotting him across the clearing, his face breaking into another easy smile.

Warmth swells in the Omega’s chest, his Core pulsing in a way that says _‘Yes. Good. Mine.’_ as he locks eyes with the Alpha. Merlin nips his ear lightly in warning, and Stiles draws himself up taller, striding out from the treeline towards the pair, his gait relaxed and unhurried.

“Alpha,” he greets politely, expectantly, sparing a friendly smile for Isaac when he catches the Beta staring at him, wide-eyed, nostrils flared. He knows how much he smells like Derek; smells like _Pack._ Just as he ought to.

“Peacekeeper,” Derek acknowledges with all due ceremony, sliding his hand up to rest on the younger Werewolf’s shoulder. “This is Isaac. My first.”

Isaac inclines his head respectfully, gaze lowered. “Peacekeeper.”

“Stiles,” the Omega corrects, all too happy to push formalities to one side now that the initial introductions have been made, thrusting out a hand towards Mr Hotshot. “Pleasure to meet you, Isaac.”

The Beta’s lips twitch upwards in a shy sort of half-smile, but his grip is strong and sure when he wraps his fingers around Stiles’ hand. It’s much easier to get a proper sense of Isaac’s innermost self now that they’re touching, but Stiles is careful not to push too hard, instead nudging gently against the Beta’s Core and waiting for him to open up first. Isaac tilts his head to the side a little, clearly sensing the power shift between them, but doesn’t retreat from the Peacekeeper’s gentle probing. Stiles wants to curl his hand around the back of Isaac’s neck and tug him into a kiss, but that’s just his Omega hormones talking. He needs to be _delicate_ about these things.

Merlin, clearly having grown impatient with the proceedings, abruptly makes his descent from Stiles’ shoulder and across the bridge that their joined hands have created, wings flapping briefly as he hops up to perch on Isaac’s shoulder instead.

Stiles sighs. “And this little guy is Merlin, one of my Companions. Merlin, this is Isaac.”

The magpie turns his head to give Stiles a look that clearly says _“well, duh”,_ before fluffing his neck feathers up primly and rubbing himself against Isaac’s dark blue scarf. He hops back again, black eyes studying the fabric closely for a moment, before he gives a low, approving _‘caw’_ and buries his head in its folds.

“Uh. Hi there,” Isaac says, appearing equal parts baffled and delighted as he lifts a hand to stroke a couple of fingers lightly over the magpie’s back.

 _“You’re so cute,”_ Merlin warbles, the sound muffled in the fabric of Isaac’s scarf.  _"Pretty bird."_

Derek arches an eyebrow even as he steps closer to Stiles, looping an arm around the Omega’s waist. “You never said he could talk.”

 _“Smarty-pants,”_ Merlin affirms, rubbing himself up against the soft scarf.

“He’s amazing,” Isaac murmurs. The magpie gives another _caw_ of approval, shooting Stiles a smug sort of look from beneath the folds of fabric.

Stiles sighs. “Sorry about him. He, uh, kinda has a thing for cashmere.”

Deep down, he’s torn between exasperation and reluctant amusement. Honestly, he can’t take his bird _anywhere._ Extended Companion training has given the magpie a level of intelligence that puts him far above the rest of the animal kingdom, but Merlin’s love of pretty fabrics and shiny objects has never diminished, not even by an ounce. And while secretly Stiles wouldn’t have him any other way (Merlin might not have been his first Companion, but their bond has turned out to be the strongest), he does wish that the bird had a better sense of timing about these things.

“He can have the scarf, if he really wants it,” Isaac offers cheerfully, smoothing his fingers over the magpie’s feathers in poorly-concealed wonderment. “I’ve got other ones.”

Merlin’s head pokes up out of the fabric, beady eyes fixed on Isaac’s face. Then he swivels around to look at Stiles, excitement bubbling across their bond.

_“Who’s a pretty bird?”_

“No,” Stiles tells his Companion. “Absolutely not.”

The magpie gives a particularly forlorn cry and takes the edge of the scarf carefully in his beak, tugging at it insistently as though to draw emphasis to its unique quality. Stiles heaves a put-upon sigh _._

“You’ve got a whole box of fabric at home, dude,” he argues, reaching out to poke the bird gently in its side. “You don’t need any more.”

Merlin responds by trying to wriggle his body even further beneath the scarf. _“He’s a good boy, oh yes he is.”_

“I honestly don’t mind,” Isaac insists, smiling widely, and doesn’t he look a sight? Eyes bright with laughter, cheeks tinged pink, and a large, feathered magpie-butt sticking out of his neck.

Stiles might be a little bit in love with him already.

“Alright, alright,” the Peacekeeper relents, raising his hands in surrender. He can feel Derek’s amusement radiating warmly across their bond, and has to fight to hide his smile as he bumps his elbow against the Alpha’s midriff. “I know when I’m beat. But I’d better have a damn good aerial map of the territory by the end of the week.”

 _“You’re so cute,”_ Merlin tells him happily, body bobbing up and down. _“Pretty bird, pretty bird.”_

“I’m going for a run,” Derek murmurs, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple as Isaac starts to unwind his scarf. “It’ll give the two of you time to talk in private.”

Stiles turns to face the Alpha, sliding a hand up to brush against the side of his neck as he leans in for a proper kiss, electricity zinging across their bond as Derek reciprocates without hesitation. Although he isn’t so distracted that he misses the sudden flare of arousal from Isaac, and he smiles into the kiss, feeling out towards the Beta’s Core and nudging up against it again to let the ‘wolf know of his approval.

“Stay safe,” Stiles says, and kisses the Alpha again, more chastely this time. “And maybe take Merlin with you? He’s got work to do, and he could use a hand figuring out your border markers.”

The magpie gives another low, protesting _caw,_ nestled up in Isaac's cashmere scarf and cradled in the Beta's arms like a particularly feathery baby. Oh man, the bird’s got Isaac _whipped._ Stiles steps away from Derek and scoops the magpie out of his fabric nest, trying and failing to look stern as Merlin tilts his head to the side and warbles a whistling trill in his throat.

“Yes, I know, you’re adorable,” he tells the bird. “But you’ve got work to do, pretty bird. I’ll keep the scarf safe until you get back, okay?”

 _“He’s a good boy, yes he is,”_ Merlin insists, rubbing himself up against Stiles briefly before flapping his wings and sailing over to perch on Derek’s shoulder. _“Pretty bird.”_

Derek shares a smile with Stiles, even as he reaches up to stroke two fingers over the magpie’s head. “Alright, beautiful. Let’s see how fast you can fly.”

And _oh,_ that’s a challenge.

Stiles grins knowingly at Merlin as bird fluffs himself up, nips Derek’s ear gently, and abruptly takes flight.

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you plan on writing a quick, fun story that's basically pure smut, but then your brain decides to create a whole universe around the sexy stuff instead and leaves you writing 17k of background/filler scenes and no sex whatsoever, so that you have the arduous task of editing the stupid thing into a story that actually flows?
> 
> *sigh* Silly muse. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this story! And I apologise for the long wait between chapters. As you may have gathered, my feather quill decided to take things in another direction entirely, traitorous bastard. 
> 
> Anyway! After introducing you all to Pip (the sulky green Day Gecko) in chapter 2, I decided to show you another one of Stiles' Companions. In my universe, Peacekeepers generally have three Companions (maintaining the Alpha/Beta/Omega triad that echoes throughout the supernatural realm - numbers have power, after all), but I haven't quite decided what animal to make the 3rd Companion. I'm torn between two, but I thought I might let you chip in a few ideas, my dear readers. I do so love to hear outside opinions! 
> 
> Scisaac cuddles/flirting/eventual smut in the next chapter. Continue at your peril! ;)


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